


_Traps, Pitfalls and Swindles

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [6]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Chess, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first game Aiden and Damien ever played.</p>
            </blockquote>





	_Traps, Pitfalls and Swindles

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from all the action and violence, that stuff is so hard to write.

[takes place in 2002]

* * *

Due to the weather conditions, fresh air had been postponed and the inmates recreational hour took place in the somewhat more crammed indoors while the rain beat against the barred windows with ferocity. Sometimes lightning cut across the sky, closely followed by the beating of thunder. It was almost loud enough to drone out the noise of too many men hanging around, trying very hard not to do something stupid while they were bored.

Sitting on his own, Damien looked up from the chessboard in front of him and cast a slow gaze around. There weren't a lot of really dangerous people on this level with him, just small-time criminals with not enough bite to get into serious shit, guys running scams, tax fraud, most of them crossed out, too. No one you really had to worry about if you kept an eye on your wallet. Of course, there was the occasional bigger fish around. Guys who couldn't be convicted for the mass murdering they usually did, but were dumb enough be caught driving high as a kite.

Damien sighed, looked back at the chessboard and contemplated his next move. For his part, his sentence was almost halfway up and he'd settled in well enough, keeping to himself without antagonising anyone and being polite to the guards. He'd even got a job down in the prison's library, although 'library' was a somewhat hopeful term. They used an ancient computer to organise the place and Damien had been lucky enough to be present when the geriatric machine had hiccuped. He'd very politely offered to help, a guard had recommended him and a mere three weeks later all the paperwork had gone through.

At least it gave him something to do, even if it involved coding text-based adventures in WordPad to at least pretend to keep his wits sharp. Internet access would've been too much to ask for.

A shadow fell across his table and Damien sighed again.

"You are in my light," he said and only then deigned to look up. He rolled his eyes. Not another knuckle-dragger, please? Because at least the scammers had the occasional funny story to tell, but this guy? If Damien had to hear one more old chestnut involving someone's 'bitches' he was… well, he wasn't ruining his chances of checking out of this shit-hole early, but he'd certainly feel tempted.

The young man watched him thoughtfully, then smiled a little and swung a leg over the bench to sit down.

He said, "Oh, sorry."

He didn't sound like he meant it, but it was enough for Damien to at least look him over a second time. A young man, mid-twenties at Damien's guess, built like a thug, muscled less for show and more for hurting people, but he looked a bit worn around the edges. Damien saw recently healed scars on his scalp through the short-cropped hair but no other signs of damage.

"Do you play?" the young man asked, made a small gesture at the board with a long-boned hand.

"You're new, right?" Damien said. "It's okay if you don't know it, but I only talk to people after the big guys have broken them in. I don't have the patience to teach you manners myself."

The young man contemplated him, folded his arms deftly on the edge of the table and leaned in a little. He arched a dark brow. "So _do_ you play? Or are you just moving the pieces around?"

Damien smoothed his expression into something vaguely scandalised to cover the fact that his interest had been piqued. Didn't mean he had to show his hand, even if that was a different game.

He let the young man hang there for a long minute, just to see if he even had the patience to last, but he only looked back at Damien steadily and with enough arrogant confidence in his slight smile Damien felt it was a public service to teach this little pretender a thing or two.

Dismissively, Damien took his gaze away from him and looked down at the board as if he wanted to memorise the position he'd reached playing against himself. Only then did he reach out and put the pieces back into their starting positions, one after the other, perfectly aligned in the centre of their squares. As a final touch, Damien put his fingers to the side of the board and swivelled it so his challenger was facing the white side.

He looked up, gave a toothy grin and said, "Your move."

What followed was a war of annihilation. Damien made a handful of bad mistakes in the beginning, before he finally swallowed his pride and accepted that his opponent at least knew what he was doing. After that, Damien really focussed on the game, outgunned and cornered his opponent until he was down to a last pawn and his queen.

Despite that, Damien was having a sinking feeling about where it was going. He'd been watching the man across the board and rather than swagger through like Damien had expected, he actually seemed to approach it with a certain earnestness.

"Careful there," Damien reminded him gently. "People could think you're actually enjoying yourself."

"They'd be right," the other shrugged, stared at the board as if his position would somehow improve if he just glared at it long enough.

"Enjoy getting beaten, do you?"

"Not as much as you'd think," he said, looked up and grinned briefly. "I'm strange like that."

"I can see that," Damien commented. "You've been fingering the queen for five minutes by now. Maybe that's enough foreplay for one move?"

"Agreed," he said and took the piece between his fingers, moved it across the board and set it down right in front of Damien's king. "Check," he added and sounded quite pleased with himself.

"Yes, but can you take it home?" Damien asked.

The other leaned back from the board, let his gaze travel over it and then up at Damien, holding his gaze. "No, but that makes two of us."

He waved his hand in mocking invitation.

"Your move."

Damien looked at the board, but he’d already mapped it in his head and knew exactly what this position meant. A bell signalled the end of recreation time and the inmates slowly started congealing at the exits, heading for the mess hall.

Damien sighed dramatically and sat back. “Finish tomorrow?” he asked, still clinging to the hope his opponent had just accidentally blundered into the position and didn’t know what he had.

His opponent tilted his head, smirked a little. “Finish right now,” he said. “It’s only one move left. But you do get to pick that one. After that, it’s a stalemate.”

Damien snorted and started packing up the pieces and the board under the baleful stare of a guard, they’d already hung around too long.

“I got to wonder, though,” Damien said as they made their way through the hallway. “Didn’t you play to win?”

The other shrugged. “Of course I played to win, but when it wasn’t working, I played not to lose."

Damien arched his brows, somewhat more captivated by his new chess partner than he'd expected. It was putting him in a surprisingly good mood.

He said, "Just stick with me, son, I'll teach you the ropes."

He slung an arm around the other man’s shoulders, somewhat condescendingly, but not unkindly. He was entirely prepared to risk his arm, too, you never knew who’d snap if you touched them without permission around here, but Damien had a good feeling about it.

The other laughed dryly, but didn't get the chance to answer, because someone behind said, "Hey, I think the nerd has finally found someone!"

Damien frowned. He didn't know he had acquired a nickname. He guessed it could be worse, but he wasn't exactly thrilled, either, since it meant he wasn't moving under the radar as much as he'd hoped. He glanced back and spotted the man who'd spoken and it almost immediately ruined his mood. One of the gang-banger sorted into the wrong cell tract. This guy had been making some noise since he’d arrived a week ago. Both Damien and his chess partner were almost a head taller than the ‘banger, but the man was broad and imposing nevertheless. He had the kind of face you really wanted to beat up on, too, especially while he was wearing _that_ expression.

"So," the man went on with a leer, "which one is the girl?"

By then, Damien had already used every conceivable witty comeback for that question and it just wasn't worth the effort anymore. He was entirely prepared to let the man off easy, giving him nothing but an arrogant grin and a careless dismissal.

His chess partner had other ideas. Damien watched him slow down, then take a half step to the side, out of Damien’s loose grip, glance up and down the hallway in an instant. After that, it happened too fast for Damien to follow. It happened too fast for the ‘banger, too, considering the sort of choked sound of surprise he made when he suddenly found himself ran face first into the bars of a cell along the corridor, one arm twisted painfully on his back and Damien’s chess partner leaning in hard behind him, keeping him pinned.

"I didn't catch that," Damien's chess partner hissed, holding the ‘banger with no apparent effort even when the man tried to struggle. "Maybe run it by me again?"

Some of the other inmates had stopped to watch the spectacle and Damien could already see the commotion spreading out in the lines behind them like a shockwave.

The gang-banger's strained, "uh nothing" came almost simultaneously with a guard yelling "what's going on?" further down.

Damien's chess partner seemed unimpressed, held on for long enough to make his point, then eased up and put the other man back on his feet, made a show of smoothing down the man's shirt.

Damien pulled in his breath sharply, drawing attention. "Maybe we should keep moving?" he suggested.

"Yeah," his chess partner agreed and fell back into the same bored stride he’d had before, as if nothing had happened. The ‘banger had enough sense not to press his luck there and then, sorted himself into the line somewhere further behind, hopefully he wasn’t just biding his time.

"You realise you've just answered his question anyway, do you?" Damien inquired.

"Well, if you _mind,_ I'll create a distraction and you can set him straight," the other said, pointed with his chin. "He's just over there."

They were queuing at the food counter and Damien leaned out of the line to spot the other man. He pretended to think about it, but then shook his head.

"Nah, not worth it," he decided. "He'll just drag me down to his level."

"So what is it?"

"What?"

"Your last move."

Damien got distracted by a shovel full of… mashed potatoes? Gravy?… being lumped on his plate. He'd been seeing these sorts of things on television for most of his life and always assumed it was an exaggeration, but jail food really didn't have a lot going for it.

"King to g7," he said. "So now you have one pawn left. Congratulations. I win."

"It's not a checkmate, so it’s not a win.”

"It will be," Damien assured him. "If you have the balls to play again tomorrow."

The other man smiled as he put his tray down on the table and slid in the empty seat.

He said, "You're on."

* * *

They played to a long series of draws. Threefold repetition. A ridiculous number of stalemates. They played _way_ past fifty moves and had to continue verbally over dinner. Insufficient material, Damien's opponent loved that one. It took Damien a week before he finally managed to checkmate his opponent and it was entirely impossible to hide his mirth when it happened.

"The world's right again," Damien said, grinning. "I was getting worried."

The weather had changed, so the inmates were being aired out in the yard under sunlight, almost bright enough to sting the eyes.

"I know," the other said, unconcerned over his loss.

"Not enough time for another game," he added and swivelled in his seat, leaned his elbows on the table and leaned back, face to the sun.

Damien studied him while he had the freedom to do so without being observed in turn. He only saw his profile like this, a long nose and pointed chin, unrefined features without much subtlety, certainly nothing to suggest he could think strategy the way he did.

"What are you in for?" he asked.

A slow grin spread across the other man's face at some private joke. Damien thought he knew the nature of it already. No one around here served sentences longer than a year and for mostly harmless things. This man, Damien was sure, had a lot more dirt going on.

"Computer tampering."

Damien laughed, he couldn't help himself.

"Are you sure?" he asked, still laughing. "You certainly don't look the part."

"The judge seemed pretty sure."

"What sort of tampering?"

The other man cracked an eye open and turned it on Damien, giving him a very critical look.

"Professional curiosity?" he asked.

"Why, yes," Damien said. "You see, I'm beginning to think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

The man opened both eyes and turned his head, faced Damien, his expression set in a relaxed mask that could be hiding any number of homicidal thoughts.

"Uhm…" someone said and they both turned to face the newcomer.

Damien rolled his eyes when he recognised the gang-banger from a few days before, but he didn't look like he planned to make trouble. He was standing a polite few feet away, decidedly unthreatening in the way any wild animal would. If he had a tail, he'd have been wagging it hopefully.

It was all Damien could do not to show his amusement and ruin the show in the process. He was an outsider, but his partner had a clear grasp on what he was doing, playing right along as if he’d been waiting for just this thing.

"Sorry," the 'banger said. “The thing… you know, the other day? I meant no offence.”

"Nothing happened," Damien's partner assured him with a shrug and the gang-banger pulled a pack of cigarettes out.

"You want?" the gang-banger asked, holding out the packet.

Damien’s partner hesitated, considering the worth of the offer, but then nodded, took the cigarette and put it between his lips.

"Fire?" he asked and the ‘banger immediately pulled out a battered looking lighter, it took a few tries before it sparked. He lit up and hung around while Damien's partner took a few long drags.

"I'm Trent," the gang-banger said and earned himself a cool half-smile which nevertheless seemed to reassure him. He added, "If you need anything else, I got connections, you know."

Damien's partner nodded slowly, kept smiling and smoking. "Sure," he said. "Trent, right?"

When Trent had finally withdrawn with a certain deference, Damien said, "Would you look at that. You're starting to built a fan-club."

"It's not rocket science," he waved it off. “But don’t worry, you’ve got seniority.”

Damien snorted, but let it go anyway. He’d just checkmated the man, no need to be petty about such things.

"I got owned for extortion," Damien offered after another moment of silence. “ _Attempted_ extortion, even. Stupid mistake, and I don't really _make_ mistakes.”

"You're a tech geek of some kind," the other said. Since Trent was gone, he'd settled his hand on the edge of the table, cigarette smoke curling up lazily between them. "Greed got the better of you, didn't it? But you didn't know how to play."

“Lucky guess,” Damien accused, though he couldn't quite decide if he was impressed or annoyed at being read so easily. "Cops outsourced some of their forensics to the company I work for. Well, _worked,_ since they fired me. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe just how many opportunities come across my screen. All I’ve got to do is pluck them. But some intern, you know, the kind who’s always underfoot everywhere, she picked up what was going on and ran straight to the cops with it. I’d have let her in on things if she’d just asked. There was enough for everyone.”

"There are professionals you can hire to help you out with that. They don't trip up."

"You speaking from experience?"

"No…" the other said with blatant dishonesty. "Just heard a rumour. You know how gossip travels."

Damien sniggered. "I see."

They were silent for a long minute and Damien's gaze was drawn back to the cigarette slowly getting shorter in the other's hand. Damien had decided to give up smoking while incarcerated. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, it meant he'd not have to rely on anyone for his supply, but it turned out much harder than he'd thought it would be. He wasn't used to denying himself anything he wanted, especially vices.

He said, "You aren't a smoker, are you?"

The other man chuckled. "Never liked the taste."

"I could help with that," Damien said, pointed at the cigarette. "Shame to waste it."

The other man arched an eyebrow at him, brought the cigarette up. He said, "That's a bit intimate, don't you think? I don't even know your name."

He took a drag, tiny point of bright orange and a fresh puff of smoke curling past his lips.

"Well, we can take care of that,” Damien said and held out his right hand. "I'm Damien."

The other left the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, reached for Damien's hand and shook it with a hard grip before letting go again. .

"Aiden," he said. He left it at that for another minute, but then took the cigarette from his mouth, twisted it in his fingers and offered it to Damien.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Reference:** Damien is quoting from Casablanca
> 
> "Traps, pitfalls and swindles" can be summed up by tactics that wring a draw from what is really a losing position. 
> 
> **Author's Note:** Sadly, I'm a rotten chess player, but I do have a certain appreciation for it. I also really know shit about it. 
> 
> These are the ending positions of the first game (I got those off a website and I just love it. It's _exactly_ what I wanted!):  
>  White: Qg7; Pa2; Ka1  
> Black: Rb8; Kg8; Rc7; Nh5; Qa3
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Revised on 29/Nov/2016 and 12/May/2017_ **


End file.
